


The White Buffalo

by JJJunky



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-30
Updated: 2012-06-30
Packaged: 2017-11-08 22:04:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/448036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJJunky/pseuds/JJJunky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A missing calf leads to a mysterious encounter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The White Buffalo

The White Buffalo  
By JJJunky

National Airport,  
Washington, D.C.

Hair flew into her eyes making them water. With an impatient hand, Scully brushed the reddish strands off her face. Despite the inconvenience, her stride didn't falter. If she didn't hurry, she'd miss her flight. She knew Mulder well enough to know he wouldn't wait for her. Then she'd be forced to find her own way to Pierre, South Dakota.

Curiosity rather than a fear of being left behind made her pick up her pace. Less than two hours before, her partner had phoned. The conversation had been brief and uninformative. She'd been told to pack warm clothes and meet him at National Airport. They were booked on an 8:30 a.m. flight to Minneapolis where they would make connections for the South Dakota capital. The irritating tone of a disconnected line was the only reply to her puzzled question.

Normally, packing would've taken a matter of minutes as she kept a bag ready at all times. The directive to pack warm clothing, however, required a slight alteration in her normal attire. This, combined with rush hour traffic, had made her arrive at the airport perilously close to the scheduled departure.

As she neared her gate, Scully's eyes focused on the long legs pacing in front of the check-in desk before they rose to the concerned face of her partner. Mulder's obvious distress filled her with satisfaction slowing her steps. It was nice to know she wasn't the only one worrying about whether or not she'd make it on time. "Mulder?"

"Scully."

The single word was her only greeting. Grabbing her suitcase, he handed it to the steward before offering him their tickets. A hand on her elbow guided Scully down the runway to the airplane. As she was pulled along, she whispered a quiet prayer that she and her luggage would arrive at the same destination - at the same time.

A quick glance at the boarding stub in Mulder's hand gave her their seat numbers. One advantage to arriving so late was that most of the other passengers were already settled. She had no trouble negotiating the narrow aisle to their allotted seats.

Shrugging out of her trenchcoat, she folded it neatly before handing it to Mulder to be placed in the overhead rack. Crawling into the window seat, she hooked her seatbelt and closed her eyes waiting for her heartbeat to return to normal before opening them again. "What's the assignment, Mulder?"

"Kidnapping," the other agent succinctly replied.

Scully sighed, "Aliens again?"

"No."

"You mean we have a real honest-to-God case?" Scully asked, sitting up in her seat.

"Sort of."

Exasperated, the young woman ordered, "Just spit it out!"

Opening his briefcase, Mulder pulled out a file before pushing the case back under the seat in front of him. From the file, he extracted a picture and handed it to his partner. "This is the victim."

Scully stared at the photograph in shocked dismay, "It's a cow!"

"Actually," Mulder corrected, "it's a calf. A buffalo calf to be precise."

"A buffalo!" Heads turned as Scully's cry interrupted the stewardess' mandatory safety instructions. Lowering her voice, she angrily demanded, "They're sending us out to investigate a kidnapped buffalo?"

"It's not just any buffalo, Scully," Mulder placated. "She's a white buffalo."

"Well that explains everything," Scully sarcastically observed.

The airplane jerked as it pulled away from the terminal. "Among the Northern Plains Indians, there's a legend about a White Buffalo Calf Woman," Mulder reverently related. "Back when the buffalo were disappearing and the people were starving, two scouts went out looking for food. They found nothing. On their way back to camp, they climbed a hill. Off to the west they saw a cloud of dust. They watched as the cloud became a white buffalo calf, then a beautiful young woman."

"Nice story, Mulder," Scully impatiently interrupted, "but what does it have to do with our kidnapping?"

"I'm coming to that," Mulder soothed. "One of the scouts wanted to take the woman as his wife, but the other scout argued that since they'd been praying to the Great Spirit, she must be a spirit woman. The bad one tried to touch her and was enveloped in a cloud. When the cloud lifted, the other scout saw that his friend was dead."

The roar of the engines as the airplane raced down the runway made it impossible to continue. It wasn't until they had reached their altitude and leveled out that Mulder got to resume his story.

"The scout went back to his people and told them what he'd seen. They built an altar to the White Buffalo Calf Woman. When she arrived, she laid down a bundle. Inside was a pipe of sacred red pipestone. She taught them how to care for the Sacred Calf Pipe, how to use it in ceremonies and how to live the right way of life. She said that when she returned, the world would be in confusion, but that she would bring back harmony."

"What would you like to drink?"

Caught up in her partner's tale, it took Scully a moment to focus on the stewardess' question. With an impatient glance at the cart, she said, "Orange juice, please." She took a sip of the acid liquid while she waited for Mulder to make his choice. He'd barely set his glass on the tray in front of him when she demanded, "Go on."

Stifling a smile, Mulder related, "She went west when she left the camp. Before she was out of sight, she rolled over the ground and changed into a beautiful black buffalo. The second roll she turned red and the third, yellow. The last time she rolled over, she was a beautiful white buffalo. It's foretold that the spirit of the White Buffalo Calf Woman will return in the 1990's to reunite the people. The Sacred Hoop, which has no beginning and no ending, will be mended. People of all colors will come together to understand about Mother Earth and to have respect for one another's nations. This will be a time for healing."

"It's a wonderful story, Mulder," Scully softly acknowledged, "but I still don't understand why someone would kidnap a buffalo calf, white or not. Or, why the FBI is involved." 

Embarrassed, Mulder admitted, "I volunteered us. The calf was born to a rancher just outside the Cheyenne Indian Reservation. You can image what her birth has meant to Native Americans. Local authorities are afraid that once her disappearance becomes public, there'll be violence."

"And what do you think?"

"I think they've underestimated the healing powers of the White Buffalo Calf Woman."

 

Pierson Ranch  
73 miles NW of Pierre

Mulder shivered as the wind blew across the field and right through his trenchcoat. He thought longingly of the down jacket he'd packed in his suitcase - which had ended up in Yuma, Arizona. One of the hottest locations in the nation.

He stepped from the car into a small drift of new snow. As he crossed the short distance separating him from the old farmhouse, he gazed enviously at Scully's knee high boots and ankle length down coat. The only visible signs that she was effected by the weather could be seen in the soft cloud emanating from her mouth and the bright red hue of her nose.

Knocking the snow from his shoes and socks, Mulder followed his partner up the stairs and across the wrap around porch to the front door. It opened before they could announce their arrival. Without a word, Mulder gratefully entered. A roaring fire, burning within the confines of a massive fireplace, greeted them with an enveloping warmth. The scent of pine perfumed the air.

"I'm Special Agent Scully," Dana said, flashing her I.D. With her free hand, she indicated her partner, "and this is Special Agent Mulder."

Two men faced them. Curiosity and hope was reflected on the face of the older man. Anger and distrust on the other. A uniform established the latter as an enforcement officer.

His weathered face and callused hands identifying him as Jack Pierson, the owner of the ranch, the older man said, "I'm pleased to meet you. I hope you can help."

"That's why we're here, Mr. Pierson," Scully encouraged.

"I'd like to know what you're really doin' here?" the other man demanded. "This don't seem like no job for the F - B - I."

Moving to stand closer to the warmth of the fire, Mulder explained, "The FBI has jurisdiction in any kidnapping case."

"This is a dumb animal for Christ sakes," the officer snorted.

"A kidnapping is a kidnapping," Mulder calmly stated, looking his opponent directly in the eye. "Luckily for you, we don't make qualifications in the area of intelligence."

A notebook and pen in her hand, Scully hastily intervened, "Excuse me, Sir, but may I ask who you are?"

The man hesitated a minute before reluctantly replying, "I'm Bud Thompkins, Sheriff of Milesville."

"Have you got any leads, Sheriff?" Scully pressed.

"I got better things to do then worry about the disappearance of some dumb animal."

Visibly bristling at the officer's disparaging remark, Mulder demanded, "Then what are you doing here?"

"Jack got scared that there'd be trouble once them Injuns learn the buffalo's gone."

"No one's told them yet?"

Pierson shook his head. Crossing to a window, he pointed at the people lining the fence that surrounded his buildings, "They been comin' every day since they heard about the birth. They leave prayer gifts for her along the fence to her pasture. I was afraid they'd blame me when they discovered she was gone."

"You got the best trackers in the world right outside your door," Mulder gently admonished, joining the rancher by the window. "We might as well take advantage of their skill."

"Do you think they'd help a white man?" Pierson skeptically inquired.

"The prophecies state that the appearance of the White Buffalo Calf Woman will herald a healing between nations," Mulder quoted, buttoning his coat. "Now seems as good a time as any to test that belief."

Fingering the thin material of her partner's trenchcoat, Scully offered, "Your not dressed for this weather. Maybe I should be the one who goes?"

"Thanks, Scully," Mulder whispered, smiling gently, "but we both know I have to be the one to talk to them."

It took will-power to step from the warm room back into the cold outdoors. His teeth were chattering before he'd stepped off the porch. Bowing his head against the unrelenting wind, Mulder buried his hands deep inside his pockets. Snow fell into his shoes. Body heat melted the flakes which were soaked up by his socks. With each squishy step, he cursed the airline that had contributed to his discomfort. He desperately wished that Scully could've made this journey, but they both knew her skepticism could cause a breach no amount of good intentions could bridge.

As he neared the fence, Mulder raised his head. The wind whipped the snow stinging his cheeks. With an experienced eye, he studied the faces of his audience. Apparently unaffected by the cold, they stared back with undisguised curiosity. "I'm Special Agent Mulder of the FBI. My partner and I have been called in to investigate the disappearance of the white buffalo calf."

A murmur of concern swept through the people. But there were no threats or outbursts of anger as the Sheriff had predicted.

"I was hoping that someone with good tracking skills would agree to help us find her," Mulder continued despite freezing lips.

All eyes turned to stare at an elderly man at the edge of the crowd. The wrinkles on his face spoke of a great age, but his body was as straight and supple as a youth's. Stepping forward, he said, "I am Joseph. I can help you."

With Joseph in tow, Mulder returned to the welcome warmth of the farmhouse. He felt as though he'd been encased in ice. Standing as close as he could to the fire, he made the introductions. The Sheriff's ungracious reception was met with a polite nod.

"When did you first notice the calf was missing?" the tracker asked, turning his attention on Pierson.

The rancher glanced nervously at Thompkins before finally replying, "Last night when I went out to feed her mother."

"Had it already started to snow?"

"Yes."

"Did you see any tracks?"

"No," the rancher thought a moment before amending, "at least I don't remember any."

Seeing the storm clouds forming on the Sheriff's face, Mulder realized it might be prudent for someone else to contribute to the interrogation, "Have you got a disgruntled employee, Mr. Pierson. Or, have you had to fire anyone recently?"

"I haven't fired anyone in twenty years," Pierson explained, "there are more men than there are jobs these days. They know to keep their noses clean."

"How about a disgruntled employee?" Scully pressed, making a notation in her notebook.

"Jeff Roberts left a year or so back. He said I was workin' 'im too hard." Pierson quietly defended, "I didn't work him no harder than I work myself."

"Work was always a dirty word to Jeff," Thompkins snickered.

Obviously not amused, Scully anxiously inquired, "How long can the calf survive without Mother's milk?"

"That depends," the rancher thoughtfully mused, "she could be dead already, or she could have a day or a week. She's two weeks old. It's even possible she could survive without further feedings. There's no way of knowin' for sure. Every calf is different."

Feeling the pressure of time weighing him down, Mulder suggested, "Maybe we should inspect the area where she was taken."

The walk to the barn took only minutes, but it was long enough for Mulder to become chilled to the bone again. Silently cursing the nameless baggage handlers who'd sent his bag to Yuma, he trudged along in Scully's wake.

Once inside the barn, he reveled in its relative warmth, barely noticing the distinctive odor associated with the structure and it occupants. It was only when he saw his partner wrinkling her nose that the first whiffs of manure and animal flesh wafted down his nostrils making him gag. Trying to breathe through his mouth, he wondered what in the world had made him volunteer for this assignment.

"They went out the back door," Joseph announced, holding out a white hair he'd found trapped in a notch on the door frame.

"Big surprise, Sherlock," Thompkins snootily retorted, leaning his substantial weight against a stall.

Undaunted by the officer's rudeness, Joseph opened the door and stepped outside. "There were two of them."

"And how did they get away without Pierson hearing them," the Sheriff snapped, obviously annoyed by the discoveries.

"They did not use a vehicle."

"That's crazy! What else would a kidnapper use?"

"If they didn't want to be seen or heard," Mulder contributed, "they'd escape on foot."

"Or horseback," Joseph supplied.

The hand under her nose showing her discomfort, Scully asked, "Can you follow them?"

"The snow will make it difficult," Joseph admitted, brushing the offending flakes from the path.

Shaking his head in disgust, Thompkins sneered, "Obliging of Mother Nature to give you an easy out."

Normally, Mulder considered himself a tolerate man, but the Sheriff's attitude had taken his forbearance to the limit. As though she sensed his mood, Scully stepped in front of him. An elbow pressed gently, but firmly into his ribcage diffused his temper.

The door they'd originally come through opened. The wind entered first, blowing straw and dirt in its path. Mulder shielded his eyes, protecting them from the onslaught. When he uncovered them, the sight that greeted him reignited his anger. The Sheriff's hand was clasped around a young woman's arm with a bruising grip. Her long black hair and high cheek bones identified her Native American heritage.

"Well now little lady," Thompkins snarled, giving the girl a violent shake, "you just bought yourself some prison time. We'll start with trespassin' and see what other charges I can think up later."

"Let her go, Sheriff," Mulder ordered, stepping around Scully to confront the bigger man. "She's here at my invitation."

Though it was a blatant lie, Thompkins could do nothing about it. Releasing his prisoner, he warned, "These people'd jus' as soon stab ya in the back as look at ya."

"If you're representative of the type of people they have to deal with around here, I can't say I blame them," Mulder rejoined.

"Mulder," Scully put a hand on her partner's arm, restraining him from further verbal and physical threats.

Rubbing her arm, the young Native American woman ignored the interaction, "Joseph, Mr. Mulder, I think there's something out here you should see."

Curiosity replaced anger as Mulder strolled from the barn. Outside, his eyes followed the direction of the girl's pointing finger. In the distance, he saw a dust cloud. It appeared to be stationary. The only movement came from the dust and dirt that swirled within its vortex.

"That looks like a dust cloud," Scully observed in amazement. "How can that be?" Indicating the thin layer of snow that covered the ground, she softly observed, "It's too cold and too wet for loose dirt to be caught in a dust devil."

"Our legends say that the White Buffalo Calf Woman appeared from a cloud of dust," Joseph reverently whispered.

"These people are with the FBI," Thompkins dismissively snorted. "They don't believe in no fool Injun legends anymore than I do."

Mulder smiled enjoying the private joke. With any luck, somewhere along in this investigation, he'll get to burst the smug Sheriff's balloon. "The FBI doesn't discount any theory, Mr. Thompkins." Before another argument could ensue, he turned to the rancher, "Mr. Pierson, what's out there?"

"Nothin'," Pierson hastily assured, before amending, "jus' an old line shack. In my Grandad's day, it was used quite a bit, but it ain't much used these days. No call for it."

"Is there a way to get out there?"

"No roads if that's what you mean."

"What other form of transportation is available?"

"There ain't enough snow for snowmobiles," Pierson thoughtfully reasoned, "but too much to make off road vehicles safe. Best way I guess is on horseback."

Mulder exchanged an alarmed glance with Scully before whispering, "Oh, shit!"

"Well, you folks enjoy your wild goose chase," Thompkins snickered, as he sauntered toward his car.

"Hold on, Sheriff," Mulder called. "I'd like you to come with us." Though his words were cordial, the tone of his voice made it clear that he wasn't extending an invitation, but rather an order.

The Sheriff turned a speculative eye on the younger man, "I'm an elected official, son. You can't make me do anythin'."

"I can file a complaint stating you were uncooperative in an official investigation," Mulder returned with a smile that had no mirth in it. "How do you think your constituents would react to that?"

Thick fingers rolled into fists before slowly relaxing. Walking back toward the barn, Thompkins growled, "Which horse do you want me to take, Jack?"

* * * *

Warmth had returned to Mulder's body with the help of a borrowed down jacket and gloves. As his eyes rested on the horses Pierson had tacked for them, frostbite became the least of his worries.

"Has either of you ever ridden before?" the rancher asked, tightening the cinch on a small Appaloosa gelding.

"My mother took me for a pony ride when I was seven," Mulder admitted.

Scully shook her head, "I've never been on a horse in my life."

"Well, Mr. Mulder, as the more experienced rider, it looks like you get to ride Cody here," Pierson decided, patting the Appaloosa on the rump.

His initial indignation turned to relief as Mulder compared the small gelding to the tall buckskin hooked to the next cross ties, "Sounds good to me." 

"This'll be your mount, Agent Scully," Pierson said, nodding to the buckskin. "His name is Charlie."

"Is he gentle?" Scully asked, cautiously approaching the seemingly docile animal.

"This is a working ranch, Miss," Pierson pointed out, "I don't have any nags. Every animal has to pull his weight. These are the closest I got to what you folks would call a trail horse. Cody, there is an old man at twenty-five and Charlie has a dropped shoulder. He's no good for cuttin', but my wife likes him. Here, let me give you a leg up."

With an ease that belied his years, the older man lifted Scully into the saddle. He adjusted the stirrups before handing her the reins. Scully's hands shook as she took possession of the leather strips.

Returning to the Appaloosa, Pierson tightened the cinch one last time before indicating that Mulder should mount. One hand tightly gripped the bridle while the other aided the agent. "There's a few things you should know about Cody, Mr. Mulder before we ride out. You've probably seen cowboy movies where they kick their horse to get them going. Take my word for it, you don't want to kick, Cody."

"What would happen if I did?" Mulder nervously probed.

"You'd probably be in Idaho before he stopped running."

"How do I get him to go then?"

"Believe me that isn't a problem. He'll be on the go as soon as I release his bridle." Handing Mulder the reins, Pierson continued, "Another thing you don't want to do is be heavy on his mouth."

"What does that mean?"

"Don't keep pullin' on the reins. It makes him surly. I've seen him put men into barbed wire fences and telephone poles."

Mulder swallowed the lump in his throat before inquiring, "Anything else?"

"Yeah," the rancher nodded, "watch out for big rocks."

"Why?"

"He's scared of 'em."

"You're kidding!"

"Remember what I said if you find yourself sittin' on the ground."

Her eyes on the formidable animal beneath her, Scully nervously asked, "Is Charlie afraid of anything?"

"Garbage cans. But I don't think we'll come across any out on the prairie, so you should be safe," Pierson soothed, patting the young woman gently on the leg. "I guess we're ready to go."

As soon as the rancher released his hold on him, the Appaloosa started trotting down the driveway. "Whoa, Cody," Mulder pleaded, remembering his instructions. Gripping the saddle horn with all his strength, he glanced back to be sure that the others were following. Returning his attention to his mount, he asked, "Don't you think we should let someone else lead? I don't know where we're going."

* * * *

Unimpeded by trees or buildings, the wind blew its cold breath against him, but Mulder was too numb with pain to notice the added discomfort. His spine felt as though it were being drilled up through his neck. When Joseph finally trotted up beside him on a brown and white paint, Mulder complained, "I thought this was suppose to be an old horse."

"He is," the Indian acknowledged, "some animals, like some people grow old more gracefully than others."

"I think Cody will be gracious long after I'm in a wheelchair," Mulder groaned.

Joseph smiled, "I know you're in a hurry, but you'd be more comfortable if you walked."

"Sounds good to me," Mulder tiredly agreed. "How do I make him do it without ending up in a barbed wire fence?"

"Have you tried asking him?"

Mulder's gaze rested briefly on the tracker, before skeptically inquiring, "Cody would you mind walking for a while?"

The change of pace was so abrupt Mulder nearly fell off. With a sigh of relief, he settled into the rhythm of the slower gait. A pronounced limp marking his stride, Charlie jogged up beside his pasture mate.

"Your horse is lame, Scully," Mulder unnecessarily pointed out.

The young woman shook her head, "Mr. Pierson says it's caused by the dropped shoulder. Charlie's not in any pain. It just gives him an uneven stride."

"Scully," Mulder said, gazing at his partner with downcast eyes, "next time I volunteer for an assignment, shoot me."

"With pleasure," Scully cheerfully agreed.

* * * *

Mulder rode in a daze. Though Cody was the one doing all the work, he was exhausted. He refused to even recognize the fact that the journey back to the ranch still lay ahead.

"I think we better pull up here," Joseph suggested, putting out a hand to catch Cody's bridle bringing both horses to a stop.

"The line shack is just over this rise," Pierson agreed, reining in his own horse and dismounting. "If the kidnappers are there, they might have guns."

His professional training reasserting itself, Mulder said, "You two stay here with the horses while the Sheriff, Scully and I investigate the cabin."

"Why me?" Thompkins whined.

"Because you're a law enforcement officer," Mulder reminded the older man, "and those people have broken the law in your jurisdiction."

Mulder gratefully dismounted, only to find himself desperately hanging onto the saddle for the support his legs couldn't give him. Uneasy, Cody shifted away from the unbalanced weight almost dumping the agent flat on his face. Staggering, Mulder got his feet solidly beneath him before handing his reins to Joseph and suggesting, "Watch yourselves."

Joining his equally unsteady partner, Mulder kept low as he eased up the hill. At the top, he laid flat on the ground. Shivering against the cold that penetrated his clothing, he inspected the line shack. Two men scurried inside the building. They moved too quickly for Mulder to get a clear identification. More familiar with the local population, Thompkins had no such problems, "That's Jeff Roberts and Mike Wilson."

"Mulder, look," Scully pointed at the dust cloud.

It was descending at a rapid speed. By the time Joseph and Pierson had crawled up to join them, it had almost completely engulfed the shack. Though he knew he should order the two civilians back to the relative safety at the bottom of the hill, Mulder refrained from doing so. He, more than anyone else, understood curiosity.

The cabin was barely visible through the haze. From inside came the distinctive sound of rattlesnakes - which even Mulder knew should be hibernating at this time of year. Then, as abruptly as it had appeared, the cloud dissipated until there was no tangible evidence that it had ever existed.

Already knowing what he'd find, Mulder clumsily made his way down the hill to the shack. He hesitated, stealing himself before he threw the door open. The white buffalo calf stood in the middle of the dirty floor. Liquid brown eyes stared at him with an intelligence he found unsettling. At her feet lay two skeletons.

"I don't understand," Scully gasped.

"Remember when I told you the legend of the White Buffalo Calf Woman," Mulder softly prompted, "I said that the two scouts were the first to see her and that one had bad thoughts about her and died."

Scully nodded her head, "You never said how he died."

"According to legend, the good scout heard rattlesnakes from inside the cloud and began to pray. When the cloud lifted all that was left of his friend was a skeleton on the ground."

 

AirWest Flight 401  
from Minneapolis to   
National Airport, Washington, D.C. 

. . . Dental records positively identified the two skeletons as Jeff Roberts and Mike Wilson. It will never be known precisely why they kidnapped the calf. One theory is that Roberts hoped to extort a ransom from his former employee. Another possibility is that knowing the importance of the calf's birth to Native Americans, they planned to show their contempt by destroying the object of their devotion . . .

Scully's fingers froze above the computer keys. How should she end her report? How did she say the calf could've been responsible for the deaths? No one would believe it. They would accuse her of becoming as fanciful as her partner.

The plane hit an air pocket causing it to drop. Scully groaned. It seemed as though every muscle in her body ached. Who would've guessed that riding a horse could be so painful - so long after the deed. Though severely shaken, Mulder didn't wake up from his fever induced sleep. However, the movement did elicit a cough, a legacy of his visit to the South Dakota plains.

. . . Autopsies of what was left of Roberts and Wilson provided no conclusive cause of death. The calf was returned to her mother and appears to have suffered no ill effects from her ordeal . . .


End file.
